


John

by Gumnut, LadyRazorsharp



Series: Marks & Wings [1]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Harm, Thunderbirds are Go! - Freeform, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-03-14 15:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18950578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gumnut/pseuds/Gumnut, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRazorsharp/pseuds/LadyRazorsharp
Summary: “It was supposed to be me!”





	1. In His Place

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyRazorsharp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRazorsharp/gifts).



> Title: In his place  
> Marks series  
> Author: Gumnut  
> 24 May 2019  
> Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS  
> Rating: Teen  
> Summary: “It was supposed to be me!”  
> Word count: 1373  
> Spoilers & warnings: Virgil/Kayo, Wing!fic, not my usual fare.  
> Timeline: TBA  
> Author’s note: I had a nasty migraine this morning and it blew my day out of the water. I’m mostly better now, but ever so tired. So, tonight you get weird fic rather than any continuation of any of my WIPs. This is what it is, which is odd. I hope you enjoy it anyway ::hugs::  
> There will likely be more of this from me, but in the meantime @the-lady-razorsharp has written a fic in this universe :D Go read it after this one :D  
> Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

The wind was brisk as she followed him up the stairs. She knew he and his brother had hewn those steps out of the basalt themselves, John ever wanting the highest point for himself and Virgil too kind to deny him his help.

So, it was John who usually took the steps, his little astronomical hideaway hidden in the top-most rocks, a platform equally as hand hewn as the steps to his make-do observatory. But today it was Virgil, bare-chested and angry, his boots solid on the rock, his pace aggravated.

She didn’t blame him. John did what he did to save his brother, but it still hurt. Virgil was the calmest of them all. But not today. Kay was holding it together only because she knew he wasn’t. She had to be strong for him. Had to keep him safe. Had to face his grief when he couldn’t face it himself.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t even look at her. He had fled the building as Scott had given them the diagnosis.

That John had saved Virgil’s life.

And paid the price.

It was devastating. Kay held back her own reaction, strangling it in her throat, and had run after him.

It wasn’t his fault. He had done his best. Her uncle was cruel and heartless and had taken the opportunity to pick the wings off a fly.

John had just preferred it wasn’t Virgil, and had taken his brother’s place.

It had been surprising, yet not. She knew all her brothers would do anything for each other. Anything for her, their family. She would do the same. But the red haired, pale and nerdy John, the quiet one, the least physical of them all, had been able to shove his biggest brother out of the way. Pure adrenalin. Pure love.

Virgil had screamed.

A sound she never wanted to hear again.

But the sound torn from John...

She shivered in the wind, her halter-neck top insufficient against the cold.

She followed him up here. His thoughts so obviously of his brother and what he had lost. He was shirtless and the evening sun, dipping below gathering cloud, cast him in gold. Skin marred by pale scars stretched over taut hard-earned muscle, rippling as he climbed the last of the stairs. That same sun caught the lines of his mark, sparkling the dark etchings into iridescence.

His mark was truly a beautiful one. A reflection of the man within. It was as large in comparison as he. Fine, dark lines sketched over his shoulders, cascading over his biceps and down the small of his back. Moving as he moved. Leaving his back more black than not, yet shimmering in the light.

And more a reminder of John’s sacrifice than anything else.

“Kay, I need to be alone.”

“No, you don’t.” She swallowed. “If you don’t want me here, you can have Scott, but we are not leaving you by yourself.”

“Kay.” And with her name he turned to face her, the brown of his eyes flickering in the same light as his skin, golden and aflame. Dark stubble shadowed his cheeks as much as the circles under his eyes. Butterfly bandages held part of his forehead together and exhaustion skulked under his anger.

“It wasn’t your fault.” She took the matter by the horns. He could wallow in his grief and self blame, but she wouldn’t let him do himself damage because of it. “The only person to blame in this is the Hood.” She swallowed and ignored the implications of that and how it related to her own guilt. Virgil was the important factor here, not her. “He was the one who hurt John. Not you.”

“It was supposed to be me!”

And there it was, the guilt.

“It wasn’t supposed to be anyone, Virgil! You were there to save people, and you did.”

He stared at her a moment, before turning away and resuming his climb up the stairs.

“Virgil!”

He didn’t stop and she hurried after him. “Virgil!”

He made it to the platform well before she did, his stride and his thigh muscles used to his advantage and fuelled by anger. But once he got there, he stopped.

She almost collided with his back, his mark inches from her eyes, sparkling. A step back, and she walked around him, only to find his expression lost, as if he had no idea why he had come all the way up here.

“Virgil?”

He glanced at her as if snapped from a trance, but then his eyes landed on the platform itself, tracking over telescope supports, notations vandalised into the basalt, an abandoned stylus that had rolled into a corner, and his face crumpled.

She couldn’t help but reach for him, her fingers brushing against that dark stubble. “He’s alive, love. He will go on.”

“But how?”

“Brains is working on it. He will find a solution.”

Virgil’s mouth opened, but whatever words he had wanted to utter were lost as more grief flickered over his expression and he, once again, turned away.

The wind grabbed coldly at his hair, tossing it about and, for a moment, he was silhouetted by the setting sun.

She heard his gasp, his groan, and knew what he was doing. “Virgil, don’t!”

He didn’t listen.

His mark lifted from his skin, its darkness forming sharp relief as the fine lines of feathers rose and were caught by the breeze. Another gasp, a whine of pain and his beautiful wings unfolded, their deep, shimmering black wider than the platform itself.

The action brought him to his knees.

Because he wasn’t recovered. Because he had almost been as wounded as his brother. But most of all, because he was an idiot.

“You idiot. You’re not supposed to lift for another two weeks.” She threw herself down beside him, reaching for his shoulders, doing her best to not touch his feathers, not touch his injured wing, but reach the man regardless.

He lifted one pinion so it brushed against her forearm, its feathers stiff, but soft. “Kay.”

The single syllable of her name contained so much.

She scrabbled across the stone, sliding beneath his uninjured wing, not caring for the scratch against her own back or the dirt in her hair. She got herself into his personal space, up front, and took his head in her hands.

No words. She simply kissed his forehead, his cheek, a brush of her lips against his, and she drew him close, drew his head down to her shoulder and held him.

The great expanse of his wings arched and flapped once, an exhaled breath hot against her bare shoulder, he moaned, and a single sob escaped. His arms wrapped around her, his sheer mass enveloping her slight frame.

His left wing curled to encircle them both. His right could not.

“Love, let them go. You’re hurting yourself.”

“I deserve to hurt.”

“You do not!”

“John-“

“John survived! John loves you and would be ripping you a new one if he knew what you are doing to yourself. Let them go.”

“I-“

The sun dipped below the horizon and the shadows suddenly became deeper. He shivered in her grasp. There were no stars tonight. Cloud obscured everything.

Rather appropriate since the starmaster wasn’t here and wouldn’t be for some time.

The dark came in quickly and the rain, when it came, was equally appropriate for her mood. The first drops touched feathers almost silently.

“Love, please let them go.”

She was stroking his hair.

His feathers rustled softly as he folded them against his back. His right wing folded slowly and he trembled under her touch. “Let them go.” Whispered into his ear.

He shuddered, let out a sigh and the feathered shadows, deeper than the night around them, faded back into his skin. His mark shone briefly and was taken by the darkness.

Rain began hitting her face.

He still held her, almost clung to her, his forehead on her shoulder.

She let the rain come. Perhaps it was with the hope that it could wash it all away.

The grief. The pain. And the memory of their brother and his beautiful white wingspan being torn from his body.

-o-o-o-


	2. Lost Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by LadyRazorsharp

This chapter was written by LadyRazorsharp and you can find it here - <https://archiveofourown.org/works/18948226>


	3. Desperate Reparations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Desperate Reparations  
> Marks series  
> Author: Gumnut  
> 25 May 2019  
> Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS  
> Rating: Teen  
> Summary: Fingers stabbed at dark, dank hair. “In here. He’s in here.” The fingers shifted to Virgil’s bare chest and bashed at his breastbone. “And here. And Scott, he hurts so much.”  
> Word count: 1165  
> Spoilers & warnings: Virgil/Kayo, Wing!fic, self harm.  
> Timeline: TBA  
> Author’s note: This is part three. I wrote part one, Lady Razorsharp wrote part two - you can find it on her profile – ‘Lost wings’. This is part three. They are all standalone fics, kinda, but interconnected. I hope you enjoy this blatant self indulgence.  
> Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

Virgil disappeared into his workshop.

Scott was caught up with attending to John, but Kay tried to follow her lover and was expelled.

Not in so many words or even gestures, but he wasn’t talking. His entire focus narrowed in on his project and everything else was ignored. The only person he would speak to was Brains, and that was in a consultative capacity. He was polite, but curt, sharp in his need for information and for what little he said, he let little out.

Grandma stepped in when Kay failed, but with even less success. The man was driven and he was driving himself into the ground. Grandma tried to get him to eat, but he would only nibble, distracted by the tools in his hands, food left cold and discarded.

While John slowly healed, Virgil pushed himself to the edge.

-o-o-o-

Scott was eventually cornered by Kay and his grandmother, and a few choice words sent him down to the hangers to drag his brother out.

What he found there broke his heart.

Virgil had rearranged and repurposed his workshop for one thing and one thing alone. A huge table spanned the large room’s entire length and on it were feathers.

Hundreds of them.

Each placed precisely in order, laid out to create a massive, pale silver, pair of wings.

For a moment, Scott stood there in awe. The craftsmanship was stunning. Each feather had the finest detail, enough to be the real thing.

Reaching out to touch one of the flight feathers, his fingers brushed an edge. Sudden pain was the immediate result. He yanked his hand back and found fine lacerations slashed through his fingerprints.

The feathers were finely crafted metal and razor sharp.

A breeze from Thunderbird Two’s hangar stirred them and he hurried to shut the door.

The room fell into total silence.

The unassembled wings were the only statement in the room.

Until he heard a groan from the doorway at the far end. It was followed by a gasp.

What?

Several quick strides had him through the door and into Virgil’s office only to find the room full of black feathers, his brother’s wingspan extended as far as it could in the smaller room. Virgil was leaning against his desk, his eyes closed, a single black feather in his hand.

The quill of the feather was red with blood.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

His brother startled, the feather falling from his fingers. It left a red smear on the linoleum where it landed. “Scott? What?”

Virgil appeared almost dazed, his face drawn and pale.

Scott stepped closer, but his brother bent to retrieve the feather on the floor and Scott found himself dodging black flight feathers. “Virgil!”

“What?”

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” The statement was defiance itself, but it was said with a tremor and his brother’s baritone was barely there. He was fumbling with the feather, placing it inside a machine. Closing the lid, Virgil hit a combination of buttons and the feather was enveloped in light.

Scott frowned, recalling the silver feathers behind him. “Are you pulling your own feathers to make new?”

“Some of them. Need the data.”

The statement was simple and cast off with little care, but staring at his brother’s wings he could suddenly see some crucial gaps. “My god.”

“Don’t worry. They’ll grow back.”

“Virgil-“ He reached out and his fingers inadvertently encountered stiff primaries. The wing under his hand flinched hard and folded away from him, the engineer stumbling as his weight shifted. The pain on his face was plain to see.

Scott’s throat grew tight. “What have you done?”

“What I had to do.” With a sharp grimace and a grunt, Virgil folded his wings awkwardly and let them go. Black shifted into his skin, his mark wrapping around his now bare back and biceps.

Scott made it to his brother’s side just as his legs gave out.

Virgil swore as he folded, struggling to pull himself back up, his grip on the edge of the desk white knuckled. Scott grabbed his hand and wrenched it from its hold, forcing Virgil’s weight into his arms and lowering him to sit on the floor.

His hand brushed across his brother’s back and came back smeared red.

A panicked examination of the man’s mark revealed the damage that had been done. Crucial lines were sketched in red instead of black, some were missing, and the outline of his right forewing was blurred, the skin inflamed.

“Why?” The word was forced from him in horror.

“Because I have to.” Virgil attempted to climb to his feet.

Scott held him down. Easily.

“Why?!”

Finally, Virgil turned to look at him, brown eyes red rimmed, voice barely a whisper.

“Because I can hear him”

A blink. “Hear him?”

Virgil’s head dropped. “He’s hurting so much. It’s in my bones. I have to fix this. Make it better. Help him.” He made another attempt to get up. Scott just held him tighter.

“How can you hear him? John’s in the infirmary. You’re down here. Not possible.”

Fingers stabbed at dark, dank hair. “In here. He’s in here.” The fingers shifted to Virgil’s bare chest and bashed at his breastbone. “And here. And Scott, he hurts so much.” His face crumpled, and an incoherent sound of pain passed his lips before Virgil frowned and once again attempted to get up.

“Stay down.”

“I have to-“

“Stay down!” It was rare that Scott could out-muscle his younger brother. The fact he was having little trouble doing it now was setting off more and more alarm bells.

A stab at his comms. “Kayo, Gordon. Meet me in Virgil’s workshop. Bring a medkit and a stretcher.”

Virgil struggled against his arms again, but he refused to let him go. By the time Kayo burst into the room, Virgil was reduced to hoarse expletives.

“What happened?”

Scott’s lips thinned and, as Gordon skidded through the door, a few choice words sketched out exactly what Virgil had been doing to himself.

Kayo froze for a whole second of obvious horror before she was examining her lover’s back and spitting her own string of expletives, her worry blatant.

Virgil wilted in his arms.

Gordon’s response was strange.

He clammed up, simply moving to his brother’s side and placing his hand on a bare patch of shoulder. Brown eyes met brown eyes and something passed between them before Virgil looked down and away.

Gordon’s fingers squeezed gently.

Virgil did as he was told after that. Scott and Gordon bundled him onto a hover stretcher and the man curled up on his side, his gaze distant and sad.

Gordon and Kayo led the stretcher out of the room and for a moment Scott was left there by himself.

His eyes landed on a handful of black feathers discarded on the counter.

A swallow that hurt and he strode from the room, hurrying to catch up.

-o-o-o-


	4. Shedding Blood for the Cause

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is on the mend, and wakes up to some sobering--and startling--truths.

“John?”

A soft voice broke into his muddled consciousness, and John swam back up to awareness.  He drew a long, slow breath, feeling like Rumpelstiltskin coming awake after long decades of sleep.  He rolled over, his body preparing for a good, hard stretch--and then hands were on him, stopping him in mid-motion.

“No! Don’t do that,” said the voice, sharp with worry.  “You’ll bust the stitches, and Brains will have my head.”

John opened one eye to reveal Alan standing beside his bed, his young face creased with concern. “Al?”

“Got it in one,” the young rocketeer quipped. “Lay back down, okay, Johnny?” With Alan’s help, John eased onto his back, wincing slightly at the cool brush of cotton against angry skin. “There. You cold?”

John shrugged, uncovering another set of twinges in his shoulders and back. What in the world had he done? “A little. Hungry, mostly.” He curled one corner of his mouth in a rueful smile. “And I need to pee. Really bad.”

“I’m not surprised. Here, I’ll help you sit up. Easy now.” Alan stooped and wrapped his arm around John’s waist while John draped his arms over Alan’s shoulders. Slowly, Alan took a step back, grunting a little as John let him take the full weight of his lanky torso. “There,” Alan panted, untangling himself. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I think so.” For some odd reason, he couldn’t sit fully upright, and he put one hand to the small of his back like an arthritic octogenarian. “Ugh, what did I do, stop a locomotive with my spine?”

Alan frowned. “You don’t remember?”

John took a breath, then another. “I don’t know _what_ I remember.” He closed his eyes, trying to cast backward in his memory. “Virgil. Something about Virgil. I was…”  He gasped, his eyes flying open as memory slammed back into him. “I was protecting Virgil.”

The platinum blond before him nodded. “Yeah. He’s okay, thanks to you.”

“But--”

No, no, it wasn’t true; what he remembered next, it couldn’t be true.

Pushing Alan aside, John got to his feet and stumbled into the adjoining bathroom. Swaying dangerously with every step, he made his way to the vanity and just managed to catch himself on the edge of the marble sink before his knees gave way. Alan skidded to a stop behind him, arms around John’s waist again, pulling him up to stand shakily as they stared into the mirror above the sink. John’s harsh breathing stirred the ungelled flick falling over his face, the copper strands hiding one wide turquoise eye.

“Help me turn around, Allie,” John muttered.

“You need to get back to bed,” Alan snapped.

“I _need_ to see.”

“No,” Alan protested, his voice going very small. “You don’t need to see it. Not yet.”

“Allie, _please,_ I--” John’s voice stuck in his throat and he coughed to clear it. “I need to see.”

Slowly, Alan let go and took John’s hands in his. Together, they turned John until the redhead’s back was in full view, and John turned his head to look over his shoulder.

Across the backs of his arms and on his shoulders, the delicate white tracing of his mark was visible against the freckled skin, glistening here and there in the harsh light. On his back, however, the mark was missing in places and clear in others, the lines broken and distorted around a pair of slices in his skin the length of his forearm.  The slices were straight, their edges clean, but it was clear from how the remnants of the mark lay that someone had had to remove a quantity of ragged skin in order to ensure the edges met. The lines were red, but healing was underway, the raw edges of the flesh held together and protected by surgical glue.

Before he could stop it, the tracery began to shimmer. He could feel his wings yearning to burst into life, and the feathers on his arms and shoulders began to lift and solidify. “Ah--” He grit his teeth, forcing the scream back down into his throat. _“Nn--no! Ngh--gahh!”_   

Hot pain spread along his back as the tracery fired off damaged nerves and crackled along the edges of his wounds. Alan made a strangled noise of panic and made to seize John in his arms, but John, sagging against the vanity, stayed him with an outflung hand and an inarticulate noise of his own. In just a few moments, the feathers had vanished, and the mark was just a jumbled mass of lines on John’s sweaty skin.

Breathing hard, John lifted his head until he could bring Alan’s pale face into view. “I’m all right now,” he reassured him. A hazy memory of conversation touched his brain: Scott’s sympathetic gaze; the cobwebs of anesthesia; the realization of loss that could never be righted.  “I just had to see what happened.”

“When Scott and Brains brought you in, I--” Alan looked away, cornflower eyes filling with tears. “You’d lost a lot of blood. I told Brains to go full vampire mode on me so you’d be okay.”

John couldn’t help a small chuckle at the thought of Alan throwing himself on a bed and yanking off his shirt, demanding that Brains tap into his vein. “Thank you.”

“I love you, big bro,” Alan replied, matter-of-fact. “I didn’t want you to die.” He eased his arms around John’s wiry frame. “I’m sorry about your wings.”

John sighed and gathered his little brother in for a one-armed hug, still braced upright from where he’d collapsed against the sink. “Me too, but I didn’t want Virgil to die, either.”

“I know.” The words were muffled by John’s shoulder. “That was really brave.”  He tipped his head back up and swiped the back of his hand against his eyes. “Will you go back and rest now?”

“Hang on a minute.” Leaning on Alan, John hobbled over to the toilet, conducted his necessary business, then flushed and hobbled back to the sink to wash up. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“Here.” Alan wrapped his arm around John’s waist and then ducked under his arm so it rested on the young shoulders. “Just don’t make any sudden moves and we’ll be okay.”

Wincing again as the healing skin pulled slightly, John let Alan take him back into the infirmary. They arrived to find Scott standing beside John’s bed, glowering at the both of them.

“Where have you two been?”

“Men’s room,” Alan quipped as John sank with a grateful sigh onto the bed. “I’m gonna go get you something to eat, Jay. Be right back. You want anything, Scotty?”

“No, thanks.”

“Alan--” John painfully rose up on one elbow to survey the blond in the doorway. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” He scurried away, leaving John to stare at the side of his eldest brother’s face.

“How’s Virgil feeling?” John sank back against the pillows, trying to arrange himself comfortably and failing.

Scott turned to face him, eyes like a stormy sea. “Like shit,” he snapped, then deflated and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t mean that. His right flight edge is broken, but Brains found a way to brace it, so it’ll heal if he doesn’t keep popping them.” He pulled an extra pillow from a cabinet and slipped it behind John’s back, nodding as John breathed his thanks. “Has a nice set of bruises, too; they’re beginning to turn some interesting colors.”  He dragged a chair over, then sat leaning forward with elbows on knees. “Why’d you do it, Jay?”

John looked at him as if his eldest brother had suddenly gone insane. “Why do you even need to ask me that? He’s my big brother. I’d do the same for you, or Gordy, or Alan--anyone in our family.”

Scott sighed. “Virgil...this has really torn him up.” He uttered a mirthless chuckle. “He thinks it’s his fault, what happened to you.”

Now it was John’s turn to sigh. “It was no one’s fault but the Hood. If he wasn’t so damned jealous...if he could finally put whatever it was between Dad and him to rest…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “You know what he’s like. If we have it, he wants it. If we won’t give it to him, he’ll take it--or make it so _we_ can’t have it either.”

“When it comes to our ‘Birds, that’s one thing,” Scott said, heat at the back of his words. “These things--” He gestured to his own silver-gray tracery visible under the rolled-up sleeve of his Oxford shirt. “We still don’t know exactly how they work. Brains has something of an idea, but--”

“Do we _need_ to know, Scott?” John frowned at him. “We have them, and we can use them in tandem with our regular gear. Not standard issue as far as rescue equipment goes, but still--they’ve been useful. As a scientist, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I really don’t _want_ to know.” He shook his head. “I’m not much for something I can’t explain with a theory or an equation, so I decided not to look too hard.”

“We need to know so we can keep the Hood from exploiting them again.” Scott’s voice was hard and cold. “That’s been put aside for the moment, however, pending the completion of our newest project.”

John’s brows met. “Why don’t you sound happy about this?”

“Because,” Scott gritted, “I’ve been vetoed by our engineers. One of them is, even as we speak, literally shedding blood for the sake of the cause.”

“Scott, you’re not making sense. What are you talking about?”

“Do you know what Virgil’s been doing for the past week?”

John’s eyes narrowed. “No, why would I?”

“You’re absolutely sure?”

“I’ve been _asleep,_ Scott. It's called 'hydromorphone.' Why would I know anything that’s been going on?”

Scott studied him for a long moment, then shook his head and glanced away. “No. You really don’t know.”

“Maybe not, but what I _do_ know is that in about two seconds, I’m going to get up off this bed and kick your ass.” John glowered at his eldest sibling. _“What_ are you talking about?”

Scott held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Can you hear Virgil?”

“What kind of--”

“I’m being serious, Jay. Can you hear him?”

John frowned. “Only when he’s yelling at me, which is frequently. Why?” As soon as the words left his lips, he knew what Scott was getting at; what was more, from the calculating look on Scott’s face, his eldest brother knew it too. “Oh. _That.”_

“Yeah. That _thing_ you three have.”  Scott shook his head. “It’s driving him crazy.”

With an unhappy sigh, John lay back as best he could. “I don’t _know_ what that’s all about. Like I said with the marks, that’s outside my wheelhouse. I don’t pretend to understand it.” He gave a tiny shrug. “It's not like actually hearing him. It's...just a strong feeling. Like suddenly remembering something important, or knowing something as well as you know your own name.”  He glanced down at the lines on his arms. “I thought...that maybe since they were gone, that was gone too.”

“I think it’s just the opposite,” Scott ventured. “From what Virg said, it’s like the channel is stuck open. He says he can feel everything you feel.” To John’s surprise, tears welled in the sapphire eyes before him. “He just keeps saying it hurts.”

The thought of Virgil spending days and nights tortured in both mind and body made John ache above his injuries. The three of them, bracketed by oldest and youngest, had  always had a sub-rosa communication of half-spoken phrases and knowing looks. They'd always considered it an asset, but now...

“If I knew how to turn it off, I would.”  John swallowed. It was useless to feel guilty about something he couldn't help, but he did. Taking a deep breath, he struggled into a sitting position, nearly pitching forward until Scott bolted up from his seat to steady him with hands on his bare shoulders. “I need to go see him."

Scott took a step back, an odd expression on his face. “I dunno if that's a good idea. He’s working on something.”

John rolled his shoulders gingerly, trying to work out the stiffness that had settled in over the days of inactivity, but gave up when it only made his wounds yelp at him. “You said that. Something about ‘shedding blood for the cause.’”

In answer, Scott fished in his shirt pocket and withdrew a long cigar-shaped bundle of wadding. He lay the bundle in John’s hand.

John unwrapped the bundle, his breath catching at the sight of the soot-black feather against the white cloth. He plucked it from its nest with gentle fingers, and gasped at the smudge of red-brown left behind. “What...what is he _doing?”_

“He’s literally pulling his own feathers out trying to give yours back,” Scott said quietly.

Tears fell onto the black feather. “I don’t understand. Mine are...they’re gone.” John raised his head, tears tracking down his face. “Aren’t they?”

The odd expression was back on Scott’s face. “You’ll see.”

 


	5. In Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why do you do this to yourself?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: In Need  
> Part Five of ‘In His Place’  
> Marks series  
> Author: Gumnut  
> 26 - 29 May 2019  
> Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS  
> Rating: Teen  
> Summary: “Why do you do this to yourself?”  
> Word count: 2953  
> Spoilers & warnings: Virgil/Kayo, Wing!fic, not my usual fare.  
> Timeline: TBA  
> Author’s note: This is part five. LadyRazorsharp and I are writing this series together. You can find the entirety of the story on Ao3 in order under both our profiles. This one explains a bit more. Thank you all for your wonderful support in this venture of ours. We hope you are enjoying it as much as we’re enjoying writing it :D  
> Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

Alan was running out of brothers.

He returned to John with some breakfast only to find the tension in the room had skyrocketed. John had tears in his eyes, and, oh my god, so did Scott. What the hell?

Something was wrong.

He opened his mouth to ask, but the expression on his eldest brother’s face had him shutting it again.

The youngest was always the protected one. He knew when he wasn’t wanted.

A soft word to John, a brush of fingers against his arm, a glance a Scott and he left.

Perhaps he should go to Virgil. His second eldest brother had always had an ear for him, a kind word of encouragement...

But Virgil had disappeared into his workshop a week ago. Alan had attempted to see him several times, but the man was obsessing over something and didn’t want to talk. To anyone. Alan had even seen Grandma leaving the workshop despondent. Kayo was volatile and worth hiding from if he valued his life. Brains was the only person who managed to hold a conversation with Virgil, but that appeared to be in another language, the engineering concepts were so far above him.

Everything was out of whack, off kilter. IR was barely functioning with two operatives down and everyone was hurting.

Including Alan.

After all, one brother with limbs missing and almost dead from blood loss, and another brother broken in more ways than one.

The only brother left was Gordon.

And god, he needed to talk to him.

Normally, Gordon was his go-to anyway. He went to all his brothers for various things, but Gordon was closest in age and they had always been a pair. So yes, Gordon was most often his confidant and he didn’t hesitate to approach the aquanaut for help.

Except this time, he couldn’t be found.

Tracy Island was under a cloud bank of grief and anxiety. The whole house was steeped in it and this morning the weather was echoing the depression by providing a thick sea fog that obscured everything.

If a brother wanted to hide, it would be easy.

Alan had scoured the house, with no trace of his next eldest brother anywhere. The hangars were next, but module four was empty and, with the exception of Virgil’s workshop, there was no indication that any brother had been down here for days.

That left the beach. If Gordon was worried, he would seek out the ocean. Of course, there was the chance he was in the ocean, but Alan had hope that he hadn’t swum off to wherever it was he ended up on his ocean forays.

He took a guess and headed out to one of his brother’s favourite spots - a rocky beach directly opposite Mateo. It had an array of rock pools always full of life. Gordon had even created a few artificial pools of his own for study purposes. Alan had secretly named it Bay de Gordo. Gordon called it Butt Beach for reasons only known to Gordon.

The fog swirled around him as he made his way past the palm trees and around the bluff. Visibility was minimal and if he hadn’t known the island as well as he did, he could have stumbled himself an injury. It was ghostly. Jagged rock appeared to emerge from the mist and there was no wind. The whole island appeared to be holding its breath.

As the water came into view, Alan let out a breath as a humanoid shape was sketched out in the gloom. Iconically, his brother was decked out in only his swimwear, standing on half-submerged rocks in the lagoon.

Staring out to sea.

“Gordon?”

His brother didn’t respond. He was focussed on the hidden horizon.

“Gordon?”

Alan put his foot onto the first of the rocks and stepping-stoned his way out to the silent figure.

“Gordon!”

The aquanaut startled. “Alan? What the hell?”

“I’ve been calling you.”

“Oh. What do you want?”

Alan frowned. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

“Sure.”

“What do you want, Alan?”

He fought the urge to take a step back. “To talk.”

“About what?”

“Uh, stuff?”

His brother looked away for a moment, his eyes wandering to the lack of horizon again. A sigh and Gordon ran a hand across his face and into his hair. “Sorry, Allie. This sucks.”

Alan let his shoulders drop. “No kidding.”

Nothing was said for a few minutes, both brothers thinking. But Alan needed to talk. He had to.

“Gordon, why is Scott crying?”

The aquanaut’s head shot up. “Crying? Scott’s crying?”

“Kinda? He had tears in his eyes. John, too.”

A moment of decision in his eyes and Gordon’s whole posture slumped. “It’s Virgil.”

“What?”

“Scott found him pulling out his own feathers attempting to make new ones for John.”

“What?! Why?!”

“Something about needing data. There are gaps in his mark and he was bleeding. Kayo was livid. She and Scott have him bailed up in the infirmary.”

“He was hurting himself? On purpose?” Something inside Alan twisted in pain.

“He said it was the only way. Wants to continue. Needs to pull out more.”

Alan stared at his brother. Gordon obviously wasn’t taking this any better than Alan. His lips were thin enough to be bloodless.

But then Alan thought of John. Of his mangled mark and those two horrible gouges in his back. He thought of his own golden span, as blond as his hair, catching the sun as he flew ever so fast over the ocean. To have that torn from him. To never soar to those heights again.

He looked down at his feet. “I can understand that.”

Gordon was staring. He could feel those russet-brown eyes on him. Out of all five brothers, Gordon would be least likely to understand the joy of flying with only wings for support as he had none of his own.

“Gordon, wouldn’t you do almost anything to help John?”

Voice quiet. “Almost.”

“Then you can’t begrudge Virgil the attempt.”

“I don’t.”

Alan frowned. “What?”

“I don’t.” An indrawn hiss between teeth. “Allie, I need to do some laps.”

“Gordon, can’t we just talk about this a bit?”

“I-“ Gordon was obviously caught between his need for the sea and Alan’s need for him. “Can you give me half an hour? I just need...the water.”

“Okay.” Alan swallowed. “I’ll wait for you here.”

“Thanks, Alan.” He reached out and caught Alan’s shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze, before turning back towards the sea. The unique mark on his brother’s back shimmered grey and silver, the lines shifting and reforming shape in the foggy gloom.

There were no feather lines on Gordon’s back. Gordon was different from all his brothers. His mark was not static. It shifted with mood and need and want. Today it shifted into a complex wide diamond shape with a thin tail trailing down his back into his swimwear.

And unlike his brothers, when he activated his mark, the mark did not lift from his skin, it sunk into it. The lines sculpting his body, absorbing the human and creating the form chosen.

Today, his mark shone as the aquanaut jumped from stone to stone, gathering momentum. On the last rock, he leapt into the air and, in a swirl of fog, shifted into an eagle ray, diving into the water and disappearing beneath the waves.

Gordon’s transformations never left Alan without a shiver and a wonder of exactly how it felt.

And if he would ever see his brother again.

-o-o-o-

Virgil woke slowly, more slowly than usual and once enough neurons had fired in the right sequence, he recognised the remains of sedation.

Scott.

Damnit.

Rolling onto his back reminded him exactly why Scott might have seen knocking him out a necessary solution. Pain shot up and down his mark and he was forced to roll back onto his stomach.

Ow.

There had been yelling. Scott had been furious. But it was scared furious, not anger. He had terrified his brother.

He sighed as yet another wave of guilt washed over him. A cough, a grimace and he closed his eyes against the images that wouldn’t stop haunting him.

A beach off eastern Australia on the way back from a successful mission. It had been unusual to have John and Kay with him instead of Gordon and Alan. But change could be as good as a holiday and they had a few moments so under the pretence of grabbing a few extra rays of sunshine for John, they had set Thunderbird Two down on the beach and taken a moment for a breather.

John was down from TB5 for a break and it had been great to have his little brother along for the ride. Kay had been an extra pleasure and despite the seriousness of a rescue, they had taken those moments to bond a little and freshen up a few of John’s land-based skills. The beach on the way home had just been a bonus.

Some bonus.

Ten minutes after they had landed, a ship had appeared in the sky, Alan had started yelling in their ears and suddenly there were falling children.

Children. The bastard had thrown children off his ship and watched them fall. All to get the two Tracy boys to do exactly what they did.

Virgil didn’t even think. He was in lift, his mark phasing through his uniform within seconds, wings spreading, his boots tossing up sand as he took a running leap into the air.

John was only a second behind him.

Two children, two rescuers. It was simply planned, but effective. Virgil caught the little boy, John a little girl. Kay had boarded TB2, opening and raising the overhead hatch. Virgil had back-winged, killing off his descent velocity enough to hand the child to Kay, before regaining altitude to help John.

Because behind them was an ominous buzzing. John had his hands full with the little girl and three flying mechanical creatures with outstretched claws were narrowing in on him.

Again, Virgil didn’t think.

Perhaps he should have. It might have changed the outcome.

He threw himself between John and the mechas, his laser deployed, slicing one from the sky almost immediately.

“Virgil Tracy, is it?” On loudspeaker from flying mechanical bugs, it was creepy enough to make him pause. “You’ll do nicely.”

The two remaining mechas suddenly became four and Virgil became seriously outnumbered. Kay was yelling at him over comms that the children were safe. He needed to return to Thunderbird Two.

Easier said than done. He took another one out with his laser, but Virgil couldn’t hover and the bugs had greater manoeuvrability than he.

One clamped onto his right wing and yanked. The pain was blinding. The world spun as he lost altitude and began to fall, mecha grinding bone against metal.

But the sun shone off his brother’s glorious white wings. John’s hands caught him, those wings a white blur of muscle and intent, working ever so hard to stop his spin. John’s hands on his right pinion, untangling the bug’s claw from Virgil’s wing and flinging it away.

The other two mechas snatching his brother from behind, claws digging into white feathers.

Laughter over the loudspeakers.

His own hoarse yell and then his scream as the bug grabbed his wing again and simply broke it. Discarding both him and his wing, it joined the attack on his brother.

No!

That last image of John caught in all those claws; red flecking white as he struggled.

He couldn’t reach his little brother. Couldn’t save him. His wings couldn’t support him. He was falling. The planet up and hit him, ripping conscious thought from his mind.

Kay had to tell him what happened next. Apparently, Thunderbird One had torn onto the scene. It was Scott who caught John as he fell, discarded by the bugs as they buzzed off, precious feathers in their grip. Both John and Virgil had been bundled onto TB2 and there had been a mad dash for Tracy Island.

Virgil had woken in this very room to find out his little brother had had his wings torn from his body and would never fly again.

Scott had tears in his eyes.

Scott.

Crying.

Virgil scrunched his eyes shut and had to force the breath he was holding from his body.

His back complained.

He had lain in this bed as long as he could, but eventually he had fled. Kay had followed and he found himself climbing the stairs to John’s observatory. Perhaps seeing John himself would have been more sensible, but he couldn’t face his brother, unconscious or not.

He still hadn’t seen the astronaut.

How could he face him after such failure?

Virgil adored his brothers, all four of them, but there was something connecting John, Gordon and himself, the middle three. There always had been. He knew the moment Gordon was born. He knew when the bullies cornered John in school - the bullies regretted it immediately. He knew when they were injured or ill. There was something connecting them, something keeping them safe.

But from the moment he had awoken in this room, it had been different.

John was in pain.

John was unconscious, but he was in pain.

At first, Virgil had been unable to get out of bed, so it had been Kay and Scott reassuring him that John was recovering, that he was okay.

But Virgil could feel him. He wasn’t okay.

It was as if ripping off his brother’s wings had ripped open their connection. Virgil could feel that shredded mark as if it was his own. He found himself lifting his wingspan just to reassure himself he still could.

And the emotion. He found himself upset at the slightest thing. There was anger. There was sadness, regret and loss. It was as if he was running the course of grief, but not of his own. He found it difficult to control, difficult to keep calm.

And John was still unconscious.

Confused and caught up in his own response, he told no one. Instead he channelled it. John had lost his wings. John need new wings. It became as simple as that.

Virgil had an artist’s hands and an engineer’s mind. He would make his little brother wings. Not wings to replace his own, but wings that could never be torn from him again.

The concept lit a spark and Virgil made it happen.

A light metal-polymer composite laced with cahelium, finely sculpted by laser. He built pinions large enough to support his brother’s weight and strong enough to fight a hurricane. Artificial muscles supported by an electronic nerve fibre network that on consultation with Brains could interface with his brother’s nervous system.

Brains was working on the most integral component. On lift, their wings phased from an otherspace to their space. They were contained within the mark and were summoned on lift. Brains had found a way to access that otherspace, to manipulate objects within it. To call for the lift.

This is what the Hood had been after. Virgil had no doubt it was. How he had found out about it, the engineer did not know, but the bastard knew and he wanted it.

There was no word in existence that could express the hate Virgil felt for that man. He had taken his father and he had hurt his brother so badly.

The room around him blurred and Virgil had to take a moment to control himself.

A blink. A frown.

John was awake.

His brother wasn’t very far away. Just in the room next door. It was like he was hearing an echo of his brother’s thoughts. No words, no pictures, just expression.

He knew the moment he stumbled out of bed and caught sight of the damage that had been done. The emotion washed over Virgil and his breath caught.

And he heard John call his broken feathers to lift.

Virgil gasped. God, it hurt, but the echo was suddenly overwhelmed by his own body’s pain as his black feathers were called forth.

His mark seared hot as his span manifested. His right wing attempted to unfold and the broken bone screamed at him. It had been healing, but he had been pulling feathers in order to digitally print crucial parts of his creation and it had been exacerbated. The medic in his head feared an infection. The agony at this unexpected stretch almost confirmed it.

Abruptly John aborted his lift, the call faded, and his sea of emotion calmed somewhat.

Eight metres of ink black wingspan collapsed to the floor either side of his bed and Virgil whimpered.

John had called his feathers. How? He let out a breath and blinked tears from his eyes.

Ow.

“Virgil!”

Oh shit. Kay.

She was standing in the doorway glaring at his limp wings. “You can’t keep lifting like this! You need to rest to heal.”

Virgil swallowed, tensed, and folded his span inch by painful inch. His eyes were scrunched shut by the time they were properly retracted. A gasp and he let them go.

His mark flared hot as his feathers settled.

He was panting. There were tears in his eyes again and he blinked them madly away.

A hand on his cheek, gentle, brushing at his stubble.

“I’m sorry.” His voice came out harsh. He blinked again.

“Why do you do this to yourself?”

He opened his mouth to answer and couldn’t. Another swallow and he found a rough whisper. “I don’t know.”

His back ached as pushed himself up and reached for her, but it was worth it to wrap his arms around her. He buried his face in her neck and clung.

-o-o-o-


	6. The Voice of Reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finds Virgil, intending to give him a piece of his mind...and ends up giving a lot more than he intended. (by Razor)

It wasn’t hard to find Virgil; his anguish--of both heart and body--drew John like a beacon. He hesitated at the door of the next room, watching as his hulking brother curled into Kayo’s arms. He half-turned away, intending to leave, but a noise from Virgil stopped him.

“Jay.” The nickname was barely a breath, but the emotion rolled over John as tangibly as if Virgil had touched him. “Are you all right?”

Kayo stepped back but kept her arm draped along Virgil’s shoulders, clearly intending to give what comfort she could. John eyed her warily; she could be as intense as a she-wolf when it came to his brother, but the peridot eyes held only sympathy and love. “As all right as I can be,” he hedged, stepping closer. He shivered in the cool air, and at this, Kayo did move. She crossed to a supply cupboard and drew out a cotton sheet, and draped it around him like an impromptu toga. He smiled his thanks; the lighter material would provide warmth while not bothering his still-healing skin.  _ Smart girl, _ he thought, and to his surprise, felt a whisper of approval from Virgil.

She rose up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “It’s good to see you up and around,” she murmured. “Just don’t tire yourself out.” She nodded toward her beloved. “And talk some sense into him while you’re at it.”

John needed no benefit of an extrasensory connection to understand Virgil’s snort. “Been trying to for years, but I haven’t managed it,” he said with a wry grin at his unofficial sister. “Still, I’ll try.”

She smirked at him. “Play nice, you two,” she warned, then blew Virgil a kiss and exited the room on silent feet.

John stood and looked at Virgil for a long moment, feeling his brother’s eyes on him as well. Their shared connection swirled, testing, and he felt Virgil’s touch as if the other man had run his fingers down the scarred skin of his back. John shivered involuntarily, and Virgil’s eyes snapped wide.

“God, I’m sorry, Jay, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

The touch had been startling, but not painful, and John managed a smile. “You didn’t,” he reassured, moving stiffly to sink down on the bed beside Virgil. “It felt...okay, actually.”

At his words, Virgil’s touch returned, cool and soothing, calming the nerves that jangled out of tune as if playing them like the keys on his piano. John felt himself relax, and was a little surprised to find himself leaning back onto Virgil’s sculpted chest.

“I think the last time we sat like this, you were five or six,” Virgil rumbled, the words tingling against John’s hyper-sensitive skin. “We were on the roof of the farmhouse, and you were showing me the constellations you’d just learned to spot.” He tightened his arm around John’s waist, a big brother keeping his little brother from falling. “I didn’t have the heart to tell you that I couldn’t see them, but you were so eager. I didn’t want to spoil it for you.”

John chuckled and squeezed Virgil’s wrist. “I remember that. We fell asleep and everyone panicked because we weren’t in our beds.” He twisted his head to look up at Virgil’s profile. “Gordon told everyone where to find us; that was the first time we had any idea he was a part of this. He couldn’t have been more than what, three?”

“There’s two years between you and me, and two between you and Gordy? Yeah, that sounds about right.” Virgil shifted slightly, and John settled into the crook of his arm. “This is bugging him, too.”

The third side of their triangle was as straight and true as ever, but as John tuned his inner sense toward Gordon, he found the notes emanating from him were discordant, like Virgil’s piano in need of tuning. John caught Virgil’s sense, pulling him along like his younger self had pulled him along by the hand, and tugged him toward the knot of discordant mental noise that was Gordon.

Like the flash of sunlight on a raven’s wing, Virgil flitted through John’s mind on his way toward Gordon, reassuring and comforting their aquatic brother. The notes began to play more in tune, fumbling for a moment before fitting themselves into a tentative harmony. John ached to join in the song, but his own self was still too hurt to reach out. He smiled, though, as both of his brothers came along side and bore him up, and he ventured a small, simple melody--nothing too strenuous. In moments, the three of them were singing together, keeping time with each other, and when John’s energy began to wane, their voices continued to weave the easy song over him.

Reluctantly, John pulled his physical form back to awareness while still hearing the song in his inner ear. “Scott asked me why I did it,” he ventured, seemingly apropos of nothing, but Virgil sighed. He of all people would know what Scott’s question would be, even without the benefit of a sixth-sense between himself and their eldest brother.

“And what did you tell him?”

“I just reminded him that I’d have done the same for him,” John replied. “He didn’t like that, but I think that’s because he doesn’t want to think about someone doing that.”

“Too proud, is our Scotty,” Virgil agreed. “Still.” He curled his arm tighter around John’s middle, and John felt him press a kiss into his ungelled ginger locks; more childhood comforts. For all his tough exterior, Virgil’s heart was soft, especially when it came to himself and Gordon, still seeing them as children even though they were both long grown up. “I’m sorry it ended up like this.”

“Me too.” He opened his hand and showed Virgil the sooty feather clutched in his fingers. “This isn’t gonna give them back, though.”

He felt Virgil stiffen, although he knew it was more from being caught out than the self-inflicted injuries themselves. “It will,” Virgil retorted. “Just a few more.”

John struggled, but Virgil guessed what he was about and gave him a gentle push until the redhead was sitting up. “No, Virg.” John pinned him with a sharp turquoise glare. “Two wrongs don’t make a right. I won’t have you abusing yourself like this just for my sake.”

Gordon’s worry hovered in the background, but John felt Virgil gently nudge it aside for the moment. “I’m doing what I have to do.” The engineer shook his head. “You can’t be grounded forever.” The amber eyes softened. “You’re a creature of the sky, Johnny. I’ll be damned if I let the Hood take that from you.”

“But like this?” John brandished the feather once more. “Virgil, I’ve been asleep for the past week. What’re you gonna do while you finish this crazy scheme, have Kayo put me out for the count? Arrange a convenient accident? Slip me a mickey in my coffee?” He chuckled, but winced again as his still-aching ribs smarted at him.  “Sorry. Guess I’m still a little loopy.”

“I’ll say.” Virgil couldn’t help a smirk, but he sobered after a moment. “It’s only a few more, I promise. Won’t take long.”

“Virg--”

“Just trust me, all right?” The engineer scowled, dark brows drawing together. “I meant what I said. It’s not fair that the Hood took that from you. I can help.”

John studied his brother’s stormy face, and before he knew it, he was reaching out to send a note of comfort to smooth Virgil’s outrage. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to spurn your offer,” he said. “You know, I don’t think we’ve done this--” He touched his temple--”so much since…” He dropped his gaze to the feather in his hand. “Since Gordy was hurt.”

On the bed, Virgil raised a hand and draped it over his eyes, and John winced at the barbed fangs that still bit at Virgil when reminded of Gordon’s hydrofoil accident. “You’re right,” Virgil breathed, pain lapping at the edges of his words. “I couldn’t help Gordy then, but I  _ can _ help  _ you _ now.” He dropped his hand, clearly making an effort to push the pain back into its dark corner. “Please don’t keep me from doing something I can do.”

John threw up his hands in defeat. “If you must. Just--please, would it kill you to take some pain medication?” He cocked his head at his older brother. “You’re still pretty banged up yourself. Don’t be a hero, Virg.”

The hero in question flapped a hand in his general direction. “Yeah, yeah. Scott and Kayo already read me the riot act about that.” Then the amber eyes brightened. “So...you wanna see what I’m working on?”

Despite himself, John found that he was curious to see what Virgil had cooked up. He unfurled a sneaky tendril of questioning, but the amber eyes narrowed. “Alright, alright, I won’t peek,” John conceded. “God, _ listen _ to us. We sound like we’re plotting a raid to the Christmas closet, not major limb reconstruction.”

Virgil winced again--this time at the glib recitation--and John hung his head. “Sorry. I seem to have left my filter in my other pants.” He tugged the sheet tighter around his naked torso and boxer-clad hips, sucking in a breath between his teeth as the material brushed against his wounds. “Maybe we’d better postpone the reveal; upright and walking isn’t my strong suit at the moment.”

“I’ve got an idea.” Virgil eased into a standing position, and John was pleased to see that his brother didn’t seem to have any major issues doing so. Kayo and Scott had probably dragged him down here as a threat, but as he turned, the blurred spot on Virgil’s shoulder where the Hood’s mechs had broken his wing stood out like a smear on a pristine canvas. Unlike John’s, it would heal, and John couldn’t help a brief, hot flare of jealousy. He tamped it down as best he could and watched Virgil cross the room to a cabinet.

Inside the compartment was a piece of furniture that looked like a desk chair without the central pole and wheels.  He brought it out, favoring his hurt arm a little, but managed to remove it from the closet without incident. “I think it’s charged since we used it last--yeah, here we go.” Virgil touched a button on the arm of the chair, and a set of blue neon rings sprang into life beneath the seat. As the rings traveled up and down, they pushed the chair off the floor, casting a blue glow on the hardwood. “This uses the same principle as Dad’s hover scooters at the ranch,” Virgil explained, maneuvering it around to where John sat. “It’ll get you around until you feel steadier.”

John frowned at the contraption. “The last time I saw that, Gordon and Alan had a pair of them so they could play ‘road rally’ in the house.” He snickered. “Granted, it was a _ slow _ road rally, but still.” He sighed and tossed one end of the sheet over his shoulder, then held out a hand for Virgil to help him stand. He alighted in the chair without mishap, and it dipped briefly to calibrate itself for his slight weight. After a few moments testing the directional joystick, John felt fairly comfortable in trusting his sore body to the little ‘scoot, so he was smiling when he flicked the controls to turn back toward Virgil. “Are you sure  _ you _ don’t need one?”

“No, I’m okay, just stiff. Don’t turn this into a race, and I’ll be fine.” He banged a plastic water bottle against the seat. “I christen thee ‘S. S. Space Nerd.’” He gestured at the door. “Now commences your maiden voyage.”

John rolled his eyes and steered the ‘scoot out of the infirmary. “Cornball. Now I know why you’ve never been asked to christen a boat.”

“Penny did, once,” Virgil said, thoughtful, as they moved down the hallway at an amble. “Some big swanky cruise ship or something. I remember going to that. She’d helped them decorate the rooms, so they created a stateroom all in pink for her.”

“Oh. Interesting.” John thought for a moment. “Did anyone ever christen the ‘Birds?”

“I think Mom--no, that was Dad’s.” Now it was Virgil’s turn to go thoughtfully silent. “You know, I don’t think so.”

“A bit late for that now, I guess,” John mused. “It might be  _ bad  _ luck now.”

Virgil glanced over at him. “You  _ do _ realize this conversation is both pointless and insane.”

“Yep.” John shrugged. “Like I said. Filter. Other pants. Deal with it, brother mine.”

 

When they reached the workshop, John couldn’t help another in-drawn breath--this time, over the span of gleaming silver spread out on Virgil’s steel table. Moving to the table, Virgil picked up one of the feathers, sticking his thumb in his mouth when the edge grazed his skin. “Be careful,” he said around his thumb. “They’re really sharp.”

John gently took the whisper-thin piece of metal and polymer into his own hands, noting how the edge drew a fine line of beaded scarlet from his own thumb. “ _ This _ is what you’ve been doing?” He could feel the edges of his own span growing hot along his ribs and shoulders, yearning to lift, but he bit his lip and pressed it back, hard, and the sensation faded. “They’re beautiful.”

Virgil smiled, and John could feel his brother’s span pulling at the broad, muscled back, real feathers reacting with the set on the table. “Thank you.” He stepped back, catching the edge of John’s wrapping, and tugged some of the cloth free. “You know, you may have enough on you to complete the missing pieces.”

John felt himself blanch. “I can’t lift them, though.” He looked around, but they were alone. “Besides, if Scott catches me trying, he’ll lock me in the sick bay and throw away the key.”

“Just the undamaged parts, like right here,” Virgil countered, his fingers brushing the lines tracing the lower right primaries, making John twitch. “I felt you Call them when you first woke up. I think you can do this.”

“If you felt me Call them, then you know how much it hurt,” John spat. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

_ “I think you can do this,” _ Virgil reiterated. “How about we try it, and if it hurts, we’ll just go back to the old way.”

“With you pulling your own out by the quills?” John shook his head. “Nothing doing.”

Virgil glared at him. “Well one of us has to, and you’re in no shape to do it.”

“Neither are you!”

_ “John, do you wanna fly again or not?” _

The words hit John like fists, and he flinched away, spinning the ‘scoot out from under the hot amber gaze. He forced himself to slow his breathing as the savaged skin, muscle, and bone on his back thrummed and rang through his body, the notes clashing painfully in his mind.

After a few moments, the discord calmed, and John could once again hear Virgil’s steady melody, softly trying to convey an apology. “I didn’t mean that,” said the strained baritone, and John spun to see Virgil standing bowed over the table, palms flat against its surface. “I wouldn’t ask you to do it if I didn’t think you could.”

John drew a shaky breath. “You give me a hell of a lot more credit than I give myself,” he quipped. “All right. If you think I can, then let’s do it.”

The engineer’s gaze lifted from the incomplete puzzle before him, one eyebrow raising as he brought John back into view. “You’re sure.”

“Look, just do it before I change my mind.”  John parked the ‘scoot so it hovered steadily beneath him and locked the controls. Virgil tugged off the sheet and it fluttered to the floor, a span made of cloth that echoed the one on the table. When it was out of the way, Virgil took up a hand-held scanner.

“This isn’t as precise as the other one I was using,” he informed John. “But it’ll suffice.” He rested a hand on John’s shoulder. “Easy, now. Just breathe. Try to find the ones that you still have, and Call them as gently as you can.”

John closed his eyes, and reached out. Slowly, he pulled the tracing into three dimensions, drawing on his meager store of energy in order to solidify the pinions. One by one, they came free, curling into existence.

“That’s it,” Virgil muttered. “I’m getting them. Keep it up, Jay.”

It was like pushing a boulder uphill, and sweat broke out on his forehead with the strain to lift some and suppress others. “Hurry, V,” he panted. “I gotta let ‘em go. I can’t hold ‘em.”

“Just a few seconds more--”

_ “Hurry!” _

The heartbeats ticked by, slow, slower, so slowly that they echoed in John’s ears like a cosmic drum. Black spots ate at the edges of his vision, and he began to shake.  _ I can’t… _

“John? Can you hear me, Johnny? I got them, you can put them back now.” Virgil’s palm on his back seared him like a brand. “Shit, this was a bad idea, I’m sorry!”

With a groan, John let his wings go, and would have slid to the floor if Virgil hadn’t steadied him. An angry clash of notes rammed the inside of his skull: Gordon, frantic with worry at his brother’s pain. He sent a burst of calm and well-being toward the knot of worry, but gave up when Gordon continued to screech. He sighed; this wasn’t one of the smarter things they’d done. He only hoped Scott didn’t catch wind of it, but he wouldn’t put money on being able to hide it from the eldest.

“You got them?” he gasped.

“Yes.” Virgil brandished the hand-held scanner. “I’ll plug this into the fabricator and it’ll print the feathers for me.” The engineer gave him a grin. “You should see the rig Brains is working on. You’re gonna fly again, Johnny.” He gathered the redhead into his arms, and John sagged against him. “You hear me? You’re gonna fly again.”

John let his eyes flutter closed. It was too much to hope for, and yet here Virgil was, his own personal miracle worker, bound and determined to call back that which was lost.

It was at that moment that the door to the workshop crashed open. In stalked a very wet, very angry Gordon Tracy, the soles of his bare feet squelching against the polished concrete, trailed at several lengths by an unhappy Alan. The youngest hung back at the door, knowing that there were big, bad currents swirling around his three older brothers, even if he couldn’t pinpoint them exactly.

Gordon balled his hands into fists, feet planted, eyes aflame. _ “What the hell do you think you were doing?” _

  
  
  



	7. Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What the hell do you think you were doing?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Guilt  
> Part 7 of ‘John’  
> Marks & Wings  
> Author: Gumnut   
> 21 Aug 2019  
> Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS  
> Rating: Teen  
> Summary: “What the hell do you think you were doing?”  
> Word count: 1050  
> Spoilers & warnings: Angst and hurt  
> Timeline: John occurs sometime after ‘Scott’  
> Author’s note: It took me long enough, but here is the next bit of ‘John’. I hope you enjoy it :D  
> Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

Gordon balled his hands into fists, feet planted, eyes aflame. _“What the hell do you think you were doing?”_

Virgil blinked, his mind giving under the onslaught of his brother’s emotion like kelp against a storm surge. Gordon’s anger washed over him and left flotsam in its wake. “I-“

Beside him, John straightened slowly, holding up a hand. “Gordon-“

Russet brown eyes glared in pure fury and, ignoring John, targeted Virgil. “What did you do to him?”

Virgil straightened his spine. “What had to be done.”

“Why? Why now? What is the hurry, Virgil? You hurt him! I felt it, goddamnit! Hasn’t he been hurt enough?!”

Virgil flinched despite himself. No, it had to be done. “I had to. He has to fly. He has to, Gordy!” How could Gordon not see? “I have the data. We can give him back his wings!”

“Ran out of your own feathers, so you had to start pulling his?”

“Gordon!” Virgil was vaguely aware of John’s ire igniting beside him.

“He needs to fly!”

“Why? So you’ll no longer feel guilty?”

“GORDON!”

“Don’t think I haven’t felt it. Your sudden obsession is driven by guilt, Virgil, and little else. It is eating you alive! Your little brother sacrificed everything to save you and you simply can’t live with it!”

Virgil opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The stream of anger battered at his shields. Spikes of fury broke through. Gordon was so angry.

Beside him, John was burning the last of his energy.

Fast.

Mind blank, Virgil simply reacted. Turning away from Gordon and his accusations, he caught John as he slipped sideways.

The astronaut swore as he fell, desperately trying to regain his balance.

Gordon’s tirade stopped and the sudden silence ate everything.

John was panting.

Still not thinking, Virgil lowered his brother gently to the floor, careful of his injuries, using his own body as a support.

“Virgil!” John grabbed his arm. “It was not your fault.”

His lips thinned. “Gordon, grab a stretcher.”

The aquanaut mirrored his expression before stalking from the room.

“Virgil!”

A slow blink. “Rest, John.” It came out parched.

Alan was suddenly in front of him, eyes concerned. “John, are you okay?”

“I’m okay, Allie, just a bit tired.”

“What did he do to you?”

“Nothing.”

“But Gordy-“

“I’m fine, Alan. I j-just need some rest.”

Those blue eyes lifted towards Virgil.

Virgil turned away.

-o-o-o-

 

“I want you to tell me exactly what happened.”

Scott’s voice was calm and considered, but Virgil could sense the anger under the facade. He had no psychic empathy with his eldest brother, but at times like these, it was obvious.

Voice calm and empty. Eyes straight ahead and vacant. “I asked John if he could lift his remaining feathers so I could scan the last few I needed to complete his wings.”

“Why?”

“Because I needed to complete his wings.”

“Why now?”

“I - I needed them.” He cursed his sudden stutter.

Electric blue glared at him. “I was very concerned when you ripped out your own feathers for this ‘project’, but now you’re hurting John as well.”

Virgil’s head whipped around. “I didn’t-“ He hesitated and swallowed. “ John agreed to assist me.”

“When faced with the alternative of you ripping out your own feathers.”

“I wasn’t hurting myself! I’ll be fine!”

“Don’t bullshit me, Virgil!” Scott was suddenly in his face. “Don’t think I didn’t check on your health status while you were out cold. You’re not healing. You’re running yourself into the ground.”

“He has to fly! Why can’t anybody see that?! For god’s sake, my brother had his wings ripped off.” He stumbled on that, his breath caught between his chest and his throat. “I can help him! I have to help him! He can’t stay like this. He can’t.”

“At what cost? You? Are you trying to return that sacrifice by killing yourself trying to fix it?”

“I-“

Twin electric blue caught his eyes and pinned him hard. Scott’s hands landed on his shoulders and Virgil held back a wince. His brother’s frown deepened as his touch lightened. “Please don’t.”

“I’m not.”

“Virgil. John doesn’t blame you. It wasn’t your fault.”

Virgil looked away.

“C’mon, Virg, give yourself a chance to heal. When you are well, and John is better, then we can look at creating John’s new wings.”

Virgil pressed his lips together. Everything was driving him to create, to fix, to repair, to unmake this horror as much as possible. “P-Please, Scott, I have to fix this.”

“You will, just not now.” Scott’s hands slipped from his shoulders to his upper arms, gentle, but firm. “You need to go back to bed. Brains says you have an infection. Don’t look innocent at me. I know an infection when I see one, this isn’t your first wing injury. Go to bed or I’ll make you go to bed. You have an IV in your immediate future either way. I already have one brother who has been forcibly rendered flightless, I don’t want you losing a wing because of your obsessive misplaced guilt.”

Virgil froze, his mouth slightly open.

“Don’t worry, Scott, I’ll see to him.”

Virgil’s heart dropped into his left foot as his girlfriend slipped silently into the room. Kay was frowning at him.

Please don’t blame me, too.

The thought came unbidden and suddenly he was ever so tired, so hurting, so...

“Woah, Virg!’

Scott grabbed him and his back flared with pain. “Ow.”

Kay found his other side.

“I’m okay.”

“More bullshit, Virgil, and I’m pouring coffee on the piano.”

He shot a wide-eyed look at his brother, but he was being dragged towards the bed he had escaped earlier. “You wouldn’t.”

“Don’t push me and you won’t have to find out.”

“That’s Mom’s piano.”

“Behave and Mom’s piano stays clean.”

He was nudged onto the bed and rolled onto his side. The pillow was cool under his cheek.

“He’ll stay here.” A soft hand brushed across his upper arm. He shivered.

Another hand brushed across his leg. “Get well, Virgil.”

He blinked and Kay appeared in the seat beside the bed. Her lips were thin with worry.

A pause as his eldest brother left the room and her green gaze caught his.

Two soft words.

“You idiot.”

-o-o-o-


End file.
